


How to Fix a Magic Flu

by DawnsEternalLight



Category: DCU (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Sickfic, damian makes a cameo, jon is a good son, superman is ill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 10:02:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11872020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnsEternalLight/pseuds/DawnsEternalLight
Summary: Jon's dad is sick, and he's the only one home to take care of him. The problem? How does one really take care of a sick Superman?





	How to Fix a Magic Flu

The sneeze shook the apartment in something like a small earthquake that both made Jon dash to save his mom’s favorite china and feel like he was in one of those old movies his parents liked to watch. Except that he wasn’t protecting his mom’s dishes from a natural disaster, but more of an unnatural one.

“Dad.” he whined.

From his parents room he heard a sniffled, “Sorry.” 

He reset a teacup, stared at it like that would root it in it’s spot the next time his dad sneezed, before sighing and moving the whole set to the center of the kitchen table. Then he went back to the mug of tea he’d been brewing and pulled the bag out, leaving it in the sink to carry carefully into his dad. 

“Hope this helps.” Jon said, handing the mug over.

His dad cupped the mug in both his hands, and breathed in the steam. “Me too. I didn’t hear any shattering, did you save Mom’s stuff?”  

Jon nodded. “Nothing but a few cushions tumbled off the couch.” he kicked his foot behind him and tried to look anywhere but his sick dad. 

Most people already knew this, or suspected it, but Superman didn’t get sick. Neither did Clark Kent, no matter how many times he used it as an excuse. Jon sometimes caught colds, but they’d become rarer as his powers had developed. His dad was not developing powers, and had no reason to be ill, he hadn’t even been close to Kryptonite in a long time. So this, sneezing, coughing, and nose blowing was making Jon feel all kinds of upset, but mostly helpless and he was pretty sure feeling helpless was his least favorite thing to do. 

“I’ll be fine.” Clark gave him a wobbly smile, so unlike his usual confident one. 

“You’re not supposed to get sick.” Jon said, turning his toes in the carpet.

His dad looked like he was going to say something but then his nose scrunched up again and Jon was already running for the next thing that might easily fall when his dad sneezed again. The neighbors were going to think all kinds of strange things about them, either that or be surprised at the random tremors running through the building. 

When he returned his dad was blowing his nose into a tissue, at a much quieter level than the sneezes were. He balled it up and tossed it into the trash can across the room that was almost half full with used ones already.

“I hate magic.” Clark sighed, and picked the mug back up.

“Magic?” Jon asked. 

His dad motioned at himself and nodded. “The source of my cold. You were asking before I sneezed again.” 

Magic made a lot more sense than anything else, and Jon kind of hated that it did. He loved having powers, and love that his dad was a hero, but it was the little things like this that made him wish he had a normal life. Magic flus, wearing glasses to hide his identity, global catastrophes that made him miss a favorite show. He knew that normal life could cause all those things, well maybe except the identity thing, but at least everyone else got to experience them the right way.

His dad sipped on the tea and frowned at him. “Sorry about all this, Jonno. If your mom was here she could help.” 

Jon shrugged. “It’s fine. I’m going to go get started on the soup, call if you need me again.” 

He left his dad’s door open so he could hear him easily and moved to the kitchen. He wasn’t the best of cooks, but his mom had shown him enough that he could manage soup, and better than the canned stuff. There was still some rotisserie chicken leftover from the night before, and they had one of those packages of soup mix. Jon had already read the back, it seemed easy enough to handle. He dug out a big pot, large enough to hold all the water the recipe called for and started dumping cups of water into it before setting it on the stove to warm. 

He pulled his phone out and turned it on, hoping he had a message back from his mom. He’d called her the moment he found out his dad was sick, but she was out of the country on a job and their timing wasn’t matching up well. He was really hoping she’d have something to help with his dad. But if it was magical, then maybe she wasn’t the best person to ask. 

It was silly, but he pulled up google on his phone. He had the words: How to fix magical sickness typed in before he groaned and deleted the whole thing. Even if google had something to say about being sick from magic, it didn’t really apply to his dad. He was an alien, and any google answer would be for normal humans. Nobody had experience with Kryptonians, well almost nobody.

He typed out a quick text to Damian on his phone:  **‘Are you at home?’**

He couldn’t remember if it was one of his friend’s weeks to be with the Teen Titans or at home with his dad. Half the time the ‘schedule’ he’d worked out for Jon was wrong anyway. 

His dad had started coughing, Jon had refilled his tea, and the water was steaming by the time he got a response. 

**‘No.’**

That was just like Damian, one word and no more. If Jon wanted to get more out of him he either had to catch him on a boring day or coax the information out of him. He didn’t really have time to wait or coax so he got to the point.

**‘Do you know of a way to fix magical sickness?’**

Jon dumped in the bag of soup mix and stirred it with a spoon while he watched his phone screen for a response. First there was nothing, then the dots to indicate typing, and then those cut off. Jon frowned at it, what if Damian thought he was being hypothetical or trying to waste his time? Would he just ignore Jon? 

His dad’s coughs were bothering him. All of it was bothering him. Magical or not it was just too weird to see his dad sick, and without his mom there to tell him things were going to be okay, Jon couldn’t quite believe his dad’s affirmations.  _ He _ wasn’t even supposed to get sick. 

He poked at some peas that kept floating to the top of the water with his spoon and sighed. Why was he asking Damian anyway? His family wasn’t even superpowered. Well, his immediate family wasn’t. Jon had no idea what Damian’s mom, or was it his grandpa, was? He really needed to ask Damian what he’d meant by telling him his family lived for a very long time.

On the counter his phone started to buzz, an incoming call from Damian showing up on the screen. Jon let the spoon fall against the side of the pot and scrambled to pick up the buzzing device, hitting the button to accept the call. 

“Damian.” he said. 

“Kent, what is this about magical illnesses? Have you gotten yourself in some kind of trouble?” 

Honestly, Jon was surprised. Damian sounded worried, and it wasn’t simply the call that told him that, but it was his tone. It wasn’t berating or know it all like Damian could be, it was genuinely worried. 

“I’m okay, it’s my dad.” Jon said. 

“Good, I thought you were going to cancel our next training mission, and I felt that a reprimand would be best given over the phone instead of via text.” 

Jon rolled his eyes, there was the Damian he knew. “Has anyone told you that you have a terrible bedside manner?” 

“Many times, mostly by Grayson. That is a moot point seeing as you are not ill.” 

Jon gave the soup another good stir so he wouldn’t audibly sigh into the phone. “You can be a real jerk sometimes, you know that?” 

“Tt. You are the one who asked for assistance.” 

And he was regretting it more and more with each second of the phone call. Jon hit the speaker button and left his phone on the counter to move to the fridge so he could pull the chicken out. 

“I did.” he said, carrying the plate of leftovers to the counter beside the pot. “Do you know anything about being sick by magic?” 

“Is this sick by magic or magical illness? You wrote one in your text, but the two are vastly different.” 

“Umm,” Jon wasn’t entirely sure, “Probably the second. I don’t think Dad gets sick because of magic.” 

He found two forks and started shredding the cold chicken with them, easing the bones to the side when he found them.

“Do I need to know the difference?” he said, when Damian hadn’t commented yet.

“Give me a moment, I’m logging into my father’s files.” 

Damian’s voice sounded distracted enough that Jon believe him. Though, Damian wasn’t home so how was he-

“You’re not hacking into the batcave are you?” 

“Tt.” 

That was a yes. Jon’s face paled. As much as he appreciated the help he didn’t want to get either himself or Damian in trouble. Hacking his dad’s computer seemed like a pretty good way for Damian to do just that.

“You don’t have to, I’m sure he’ll be alright.” Jon said.

There was a hum on the other end of the line before. “I’m already in. It’s fine, I’m simply in my room instead of the command center. We’re already hooked into his system there.”

Jon bit his lower lip and dumped the shredded chicken into the pot before stirring it in. He answered a few questions as Damian asked them, supposedly digging through his dad’s files before the line went silent again.

“He may just have to ride this out.” Damian said, at last.

“That’s your way of saying you have no idea.” Jon couldn’t stop the pout from entering his voice.

“No. I’m saying research says that most of these are temporary, something cast to inhibit rather than do real harm. Your father will be fine with some rest.” 

“So says, Doctor Damian.” Jon sighed.

“You did ask for help.” Damian’s voice was a little more gentle this time, less haughty. “I am sorry he’s sick. It’s upsetting to see a parent ill.” 

Jon sipped broth off his spoon and grimaced, it needed pepper. “It’s fine.” 

“It is not, or you wouldn’t have called.” 

“I texted.” Jon corrected. “But you’re right. I don’t know if it’s Dad being sick that’s bothering me or the reason why.” 

“I told you the magic would be--”

“No,” Jon cut him off. “I believe you. It’s the fact that he’s sick because of magic and not from I don’t know, interacting with a toddler or something.”

He grabbed the pepper and seasoned the soup while waiting for Damian’s answer. He had a feeling if he was looking at his friend his face would be scrunched up in thought. Not the problem solving kind, but the one where he tried to figure out something cultural norm or bit of trivia Jon had assumed he’d know. 

“Do you want your father to be sick often?”

Jon frowned. “Of course not.”

“Then why are you complaining about the means? He doesn't get sick normally.”

“Because--” he sighed, “Sometimes I just want things to be normal.” 

He leaned against the counter and tried not to cry, the tears a sudden welling in his throat, his eyes itchy. His dad wasn’t even  _ that _ sick, just a sniffly cold. He had nothing to worry about, and his life was good. He had an incredible father and family, he got to have adventures most kids couldn’t even dream of, so why was he so hung up on the whole normal thing?

He swallowed. “It’s fine, thanks for your help, Damian. I’ll- uh let you know when he’s feeling better.” 

He hung up the phone before his friend could comment further and sighed, taking in a few deep breaths to push back the emotions. He was fine. He tasted the soup again and decided it was good. He ladled some into a bowl, grabbed a spoon, and carried the whole thing into his dad’s room. 

“You still doing okay?” he asked, keeping his voice low. 

The mound of tissues in the trash had grown to fill the small bin, but Jon hadn’t heard his dad sneeze again, so he was kind of hoping he’d fallen asleep. But his dad was smiling, a small smile at him from the bed and Jon suddenly realized he’d totally heard every word he’d said to Damian. Heard the choked up tone he’d used too.

“Soup’s ready.” Jon said, hoping it would keep his dad from commenting on Jon’s state. 

He hurried over to give his dad the soup, stopping short of spilling the bowl on him. The liquid was sloshing in the bowl and he had to wait until it had stilled so he could hand it over. His dad took it with careful hands, setting it in his lap.

“If you’re done with the tea I can get you some water.” Jon’s hand was already reaching for his dad’s mug, but a hand stopped him. He looked over to find his dad smiling at him.

“That was a nice thing you did for me, Jon. Asking your friend if there was a way I could get better faster.” 

Jon felt the blush creep up his neck and cheeks. “I’m sorry he couldn’t help.” 

“It’s alright, I feel better knowing you wanted to help.” 

He nodded and finished picking up the mug. “Let me get this cleaned out, and I’ll bring you that water.” 

“Jon.” his dad’s voice stopped him halfway to the door.

“Yeah?” he asked, turning. 

“When my dad was sick we used to watch movies in bed together. Would you like to keep me company for a while?” 

Jon’s face lit up with a smile. “Yeah, totally. I mean, if you don’t mind.” He said.

His dad chuckled. “Good, go get yourself a bowl of soup and I’ll get the laptop ready.” 


End file.
